I admit it. I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself. I’ve eaten pretty well this week. I’ve been going crazy with zucchini noodles. They’ve been surprisingly good. I’ve gone for a walk every day this week, including a big one yesterday (over 5km!) through Ashgrove to get a loaf of sourdough from Banneton Bakery. And even this morning, when I thought I was just taking a casual stroll down to the Farmers’ Market for a chillaxing breakfast, I somehow ended up doing a fairly serious walk, taking a longer way home and everything.
So I’m eating well, I’m meditating, I’m looking for new recipes to try, I’m getting out and pounding the pavement to burn off more calories, and wondering why I can’t just do this all the time because it’s SO AWESOME and it’s SO EASY. It feels a bit like what I imagine being in a manic phase is like for somebody with bipolar. I keep waiting for the crash to come. And trying to come up with a plan to pull myself back together and get back on track after it does.
I’m conflicted, because in one way, I feel bad for assuming that I will crash. It seems like I’m not being confident and optimistic enough. I want to be more positive. But I’ve been here before. Many times. And there has ALWAYS been a crash. Everything that seems so easy right now will be impossible then. Not impossible in the sense that I can’t possibly do it no matter how hard I try. Impossible because I won’t try. I won’t feel like trying. I may even come up with reasons why I shouldn’t try. And it’ll all seem so hard. So hopeless. So pointless. Until it doesn’t.
But for now, I’m feeling good. I’ll weigh in tomorrow morning, and I’m pretty confident that I’ll have a good loss again this week. And I’m really going to try to enjoy it. And to keep trying to prepare myself for the time when it’s not good, and it’s not easy, and I keep going and get through it without giving up.